


the comfort in worshipping a perfect god

by radished



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alexis | Quackity-centric, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Blood God, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Violence, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-29 00:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30148020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radished/pseuds/radished
Summary: There are rumours of a small town down near west where the Blood God resides. He’s to be respected and gifted offerings in exchange for the protection and safety of the townspeople, murmurs of the silent figure of a warrior walking the streets with a confidence and stalk rivalled by none, bringing intimidation and admiration with a single utterance of a word. The crowd parts and swoons with a raise of his sword and with the reassurance that their god would do all in his power to defend their peaceful lives.Quackity likes this town- it’s fun, charming, and loud with passion and for the most part, kind. From the years Quackity’s been here, he knows the layout of the streets and personalities around the block and is proud to say he’s befriended the coolest people on this side of the country. He’s Quackity, local funny man, mood maker, and average guy- and he wouldn’t change that for anything. It’s serene. Normal, even, though he does find the whole Blood God thing funny.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Karl Jacobs, Alexis | Quackity & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Alexis | Quackity & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49





	the comfort in worshipping a perfect god

**Author's Note:**

> rated teen for swearing, gen fic with quackity focus  
> [rating may change later as it progresses]

Peace is the breath you hold before your release and inhale of war.

The Blood God lives in a cycle of endless fighting, fury at his hands and bloodshed under his feet. There is nothing quite like the rush of the energy and heightened emotions of a battlefield, a crushing ache accompanied with sharp tangs of fear. A splitting screech lasting for what stretches on forever and a quiet like none other to dash in and blanket over the fields like nothing had ever happened, hushed and silenced with a swallow.

Pause.

Hold.

Bitter wine drips from the tips of his fingertips to intertwine with the clean slate of snow. He takes a deep breath, cold splintering air rushing into his lungs against the heat of his core. Head tilted on a diagonal, the world still on its axis as he plays with the little pieces on it, a grimace with perfect white teeth and a sharpened tongue to speak his mind.

Hold, hold, hold.

“My lord,” the Blood God hears behind him. Ah. Back already? The god hums in permission for his vassal to continue, not turning from his gaze over the wide spread of ruins. He folds his arms across his chest and gently hold onto the sleeves. He feels the blood soaking into the fabric.

His vassal behind him speaks again. “We aren’t in the condition to do anything. They’ve forced our hand.”

The Blood God furrows his eyebrows. Crows fly over in the distance and settle down somewhere amongst the bodies. “Have they now?”

The vassal dips his head in response. “I’m afraid we might have to retreat, my lord.”

“Are you sure?” The Blood God twists his body over to face him. “Is there really nothing else we can do?” Surely, he would’ve found a way- a mastermind of strategy and tactical brilliance that doesn’t fall short of anything. The situation was inevitable, a mess of complex relations and hate but below it all, there could’ve been a way to fix it, couldn’t there?

A pause. “Not without a cost that I’m not willing to make.”

And it shouldn’t be so surprising, but the god had had hope.

The Blood God tips his head back and lets out a long breath, hot steam out floating above into the air. Hold. Don’t suffocate. Hold.

Do not exhale.

* * *

Quackity did not scream and flail over onto the ground the first time he met Karl. That would be nonsensical, rude, unsolicited slandering of his name that should only be spoken in prestige and honour. In no way, shape, or form will anyone have the absolute audacity to spread these rumours about him landing on his ass and swearing at Karl before realizing he was in fact a stranger.

A better abridged version of their short meeting would be that Quackity was a respectable gentleman who helped Karl navigate the streets of the small town Karl grew up in to guide him home like the bumbling fool he is.

…Okay, so maybe that wasn’t exactly what had happened, but the important thing was that Quackity had made a new friend accompanied with awkward laughter and apologies.

_Nice._

So, Quackity has a new friend. As of last week. Exactly five days ago. He hasn’t made a new friend in years _._ This is a new friend! Basically his second friend! Ever! _Two whole friends!_

Damn, he’s good at this.

Quackity packs up his bag, humming to himself. Today he’s going down to the town to meet up with Karl, who wanted to show him around. It’s not that big of a place, to be honest, but Quackity’s only ever stopped by once or twice and he’d gone directly for groceries and left to head home. He’s excited; he loves people, he loves the atmosphere of big crowds, and Karl seems to be just as excited to share the town with Quackity.

He grabs his beanie as he heads out the door, snugly fitting his hair into the navy fabric and runs down the hill through the forest. It takes him ten minutes sprinting and walking to reach the main path, and five more for the trees to thin out. He spots Karl’s bright clothing standing in front of the stone walls. “Hey, Karl!” Quackity shouts, waving his arms wide. His friend turns and shouts, running towards Quackity to meet him in a big hug. Quackity bursts out in laughter.

“Quackity!” Karl says. “Come on, let’s go! I want to show you the bell tower!” He grabs Quackity’s arm and tugs him toward the big gates, and Quackity shakes his head from the pace they move in and grins, a bit lost. Karl doesn’t even hesitate, going on about the tower, some childhood memory, a playground, and Quackity lets himself be dragged along.

* * *

“What the fuck is that, Karl?”

“That’s… have you never seen a peanut before?”

“The fuck’s a peanut?”

* * *

They were having lunch when the Blood God is first brought up.

Karl gasps at his side and taps at Quackity’s shoulder. “Look,” Karl whispers, mouth gaping. He places his bowl down beside him. “It’s the Blood God!”

What. Quackity blinks and cranes his head where Karl nervously eyes. He sticks his tongue out at Karl when his friend hurriedly tries to stop him, hissing something about staying quiet and not being obvious. With an obnoxious turning of his head, Quackity spots a tall red figure in the street, who stands at the community board. There’s a long, pink bun draping off into a ponytail. He stands alone, and around him are whispering groups of people peeking glances in his general perimeter. “That’s the Blood God?” Quackity asks, pointing. He looks at Karl in confusion. “Him?”

Karl makes a panicked noise and shoves Quackity’s arm down, moving to block his vision. Quackity squawks when his soup sloshes around in his bowl and grumps at Karl. “Yes- _him!”_ Karl says in distress, ignoring Quackity’s pouting. “Don’t just look at the Blood God, man, what if he sees you?”

Quackity shrugs. “Then I talk to him.”

Karl stares at him in distrust before slumping. “You’re really something,” he says, and takes a quick glance behind him before leaning in. “He’s scary,” Karl whispers. “I bumped into him when I was little, once- I almost peed myself, he stared at me until I ran away. I tripped on my laces and it left a scar on me. Physically. And mentally.” He lets out a shaky exhale and sinks backwards, cringing.

Quackity laughs. “That dude? He’s barely scary,” he says. He turns back to his soup. He looks down sadly at the small chunk of fish that fell on the ground and continues to eat. “What’d he do, be tall?”

“He’s scary!” Karl defends, crossing his arms. He sighs. “I know you only moved here a little bit ago, but the Blood God’s important around here, man. He’s been around for _decades._ He’s a literal god!” He picks up his soup and sips directly from the bowl. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speak. I used to think he was a myth, but he started to show up a lot more frequently nowadays…” He frowns. “I hope nothing’s wrong.”

Decades. Quackity scoffs, shoulders drooping, wincing. More stuff to remember. It’s not hard, but it’s… overwhelming, maybe? It’s sort of amusing. He looks around the square again before puffing up. Whatever. Yeah, he hasn’t been around long, but he can fit in. He _does_ fit in. Karl’s nice, too. It’s fine. “I’m sure nothing’s wrong,” Quackity says dismissively. “How much would you bet he sounds like an old smoker with busted lungs?” He earns a swat and a snicker from Karl. “What?” Quackity exclaims, excited seeing his new friend smile. “He’s probably ancient, am I wrong? Huh, Karl? You think he squeaks or something?” He takes a deep breath and lets out a high-pitched screech. Karl falls back in laughter. The man promptly launches into another story when he sees a small lizard shoot around under their feet; it’s funny, good, and Quackity feels like he fits in- he’s being funny and Karl’s great. It’s fantastic.

When Quackity looks back at the board, there’s no one standing there.

He lets out a deep breath.

* * *

Another week passes and another weekend spent with Karl is added to the list.

Then another, and another, and soon enough, Quackity startles at the realization he’s known Karl for two full months now. He drops his book and gasps, springing up. Smiling smugly to himself, Quackity gets off the couch and pumps his fists into the air, dropping to his knees, jumping up and screaming. Fuck, he has an official _friend!_ A _long-term_ friend! How cool is that?

With another shaky exhale he glances over at the clock- about dinnertime. He sticks a bookmark into his last page and sings out loud as he heads to the kitchen, dancing as he moves around the room. He gets out a pot and throws water on and begins chopping vegetables. Time passes and the front door opens with someone shuffling in. Quackity spins around with a big smile plastered onto his face. Life. Life is so precious. Nothing can ruin his vibes. He loves everyone and everything. He opens his arms for a hug and the other swiftly ignores Quackity, walking past him to place his bags onto the table.

He hums. “You’re in a good mood, did you finish your project?”

Wait.

Quackity blanches. In a flurry of movement, Quackity hurriedly presses the wooden stir into the other’s hands and runs upstairs, stumbling on the steps. His socked feet slide against the stairs, hands splayed onto the walls. There’s a loud screech that’s barely muffled from the wooden infrastructure. The other stares at his disappearing figure. “…You forgot, didn’t you.”

“I FUCKING FORGOT!”

* * *

The shadows of the forest are long and slanted by the time Quackity makes it home. An overall fantastic day. He spoke to Karl again and met one of his friends, Bad, who seemed hesitant at first before slowly warming up to Quackity and started making jokes. He was nice, positive, and it was fun to mess around with the dude as he kindly but firmly tried to get Quackity to stop swearing.

There are promises Quackity makes to meet the rest of Karl’s friend group- it’s hard to find a time that works, but Bad says Quackity’s free to come hang out with him any time he’s in town to selling fruits and other goods at his stall. Bad packs Quackity with a shit ton of food items to take home, despite Quackity telling him it was alright. A forceful shove of bags into Quackity’s arms while ignoring his awkward reassurances and Bad nods to himself, seemingly satisfied. Quackity absolutely does not feel anything at all. Nothing about this warms his cold, shriveled heart. Even when Bad pats his shoulder and welcomes him to the family, Karl raising his arms and yelling in congratulations.

Quackity sniffs and scoffs into the cold night air.

He makes his way up the hill, weaving through wayward branches and bumpy roots to the small clearing his little cabin stands on. The lights are off, but the front door is emanating a dim glow that escapes through the gaps. Quackity breathes out, letting the air puff out in a pocket of steam, smoothly hopping over the rough ground. He steps along the well traveled dirt path, humming softly as he makes it to the door and presses his body against it. It slides open with a quiet creak. He peeks his head inside. Empty.

Quackity walks in, using his foot to push close the door behind him. Moving the bags to one arm, he sits against the raised floor that separates the house from the doorway, tugging his shoes off with his empty hand and clambering onto the floor. When he stands, there’s a faint smell of cooked vegetables clinging to the air. He shuffles through the main living space, entering the kitchen and smiling at the presence of food. With hurried movements, Quackity places the bags onto the counter before plating himself some potato and carrots. He eats them cold, leaning against the sink.

The night croaks outside and the wind blows in the forests. Quackity’s done, dishes put away, cleaning up for bed. When he exits the bathroom, the clock is steadily into the night and he quietly tiptoes into the bedroom. There’s his roommate, sleeping in the spot closest to the door and he moves around the blanket-covered body in the darkness and sneaks onto his own mattress already set up in the corner. He closes the curtains and gets under the blankets.

He looks over to his left. “Goodnight,” Quackity whispers, and turns his head to sleep.

The next morning when he wakes up, the parallel blanket and mattress are put away and he yawns in the morning sunlight.

* * *

“Would you, by any chance, know where my chamomile is?”

“I don’t know why you would think I would know where it is.”

“Quackity, we live alone.”

“I could’ve invited my friends over.”

A snort.

* * *

“Because you’re a little bitch!” Quackity belts, throwing his head back. He holds his beanie on with his left hand, holding a flimsy stick at his lips with his right. He steps onto an empty crate and does a twirl. “A tiny, little _bitch!”_

“Language!” Bad scolds. He almost drops the crate in his hands at the speed he turns to Quackity. He grunts, pushing against the wooden edge with his knee, bringing the weight back to his arms and places the crate onto the wagon with the rest of the produce with a heave. Bad sighs and brushes his hands against his apron. “Why are you like this?”

Quackity spins on his spot and opens his arms dramatically. “Baby,” he croons, putting his elbows together and cradling his face. “You are the biggest little _bitch_ , smiling little _bitch_ , my homie little _bitch_ ,” he sings, dragging out the i’s. Bad yells, trying to drown out his words. Quackity breathes in deeply to tease him, eyes wide in glee as he watches Bad complain.

“No, no! Stop it!” Bad shouts, poking Quackity in the side to force him to spit out the air in laughs. “That’s not very nice, is it, Quackity?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I hurt your feelings?” Quackity says, dropping the voice. He steps down and grabs another crate of fruit from the floor to place on the bed. Bad lets out a quick sigh, giving him a tiny, tired smile.

“No, but you shouldn’t-”

Quackity puts the crate onto the others and grabs an apple from the top of one and runs off, manoeuvring past Bad into the marketplace. Fucking legs it. He glances back and Bad’s still got another crate in his hands. Perfect. “GOT YOU, _BITCH_!”

“QUACKITY!”

Quackity cackles. He’s confident Bad’s not going to come after him- not that he’s done anything wrong, but he can stop the bit now. Quackity slows as he gets out of the street, looking around. He bites off a chunk of the apple, chewing loudly. What can he do now? Karl’s busy doing his job, Bad’s going to be preoccupied preparing to ship out produce.

Quackity makes a straight line with his mouth, cheeks squishing. Maybe he needs more friends.

There’s someone playing music down to his left. Quackity’s ears perk up and he gravitates towards the singing, getting closer, intrigued.

Music.

There’s not really anyone around besides one person next to the musician himself, who’s leaning back against the stone wall of some building with his legs stuck forward on the ground, crossed. The guy has a brown cap on, tugged over his eyes, wearing a little worse for wear wool coat over a thin white button down. The guitar though- a thing of beauty, clearly looking like it’s spent its time well used but properly cared for. Quackity marvels at the way the man’s hands move over the fret, a rough hum of gibberish as he plays.

Next to them, the other person dressed in a jacket of a slightly better condition and a thick sweater looks up and down at his work before doing a double take. He jerks back. Quackity opens his hand in a little wave.

“What the fuck-” the man- teen? The dude jumps slightly, hand flying to his chest. He lets out a big exhale in different parts, making loud noises. He squints up critically at Quackity, who raises his hands and shrugs. “You scared the living shit out of me. What the hell, man?”

The guitar man hums in question and glances up. “Oh,” he says, peering up at Quackity from the cap’s brim. “Hello there.”

Quackity gives the two a toothy grin. “Hi,” he says back. He lowers a hand to take another bite of his apple. “I like your song.”

“Aw, that’s awfully kind of you,” the man says, cheery. “I like your hat.”

What is this? “Thanks, my roommate got it for me,” Quackity replies, pleased with how well the conversation seems to be going. He crouches down fully, crunching into his apple again. “I like your hat, too.”

The guitar man laughs, shaking gently. He cradles the instrument against his body and his right-hand tips his hat up to fully uncover his face, curly brown hair pushed away to the side. “Thank you, man, I also really like your jacket as well, did you know that?”

Quackity gasps, placing a hand to his chest. “No way, _your_ jacket’s really nice!”

The other guy sputters beside them, staring at the two of them. He says a series of _no_ ’s while putting up his hands, trying to stop their conversation. “No, hold on, who are you?” the teen demands. He points the end of his pencil at Quackity, frowning deeply. “What- where did you even come from? This place was empty like three seconds ago. That was scary as shit. You should apologize to me. Who are you?”

“Shut up, Tommy,” the other says, not sparing him a glance. Tommy, then. The musician’s grin comes back as easy as it disappeared for the few seconds, eyes crinkled. “Thank you,” he tells Quackity. “I bet I’d like your name, too, if I knew what it was.”

“Oho, you think?” Quackity laughs. “My name is Quackity.” The dude nod and repeats it, reaching out a hand and Quackity takes the handshake.

“Wilbur,” the man says, and the kid interjects from the side with an, “I’m Tommy.”

“No one asked,” Wilbur says, ignoring Tommy’s squawk. He lets go of Quackity’s hand and goes back to the strings, palm resting against the wooden body. “If you aren’t busy, Tommy and I are just hanging out here, if you’d like to join us,” he offers. Quackity perks up and he drops back onto the ground and settles into a cross legged position.

Tommy scowls. “I never said he could join us. I’ve got shit to do, go away, prick.”

Wilbur dismisses Tommy with a hand, leaning towards Quackity with a playful roll of his eyes. “Play another song?” Quackity requests, and Wilbur obliges. He purses his lips as he plucks notes into an opening and into another melody. Despite his talk, Tommy stays calm as he hums along, scribbling onto his paper, and Quackity watches in fascination at how smoothly Wilbur sings. There is a lilt to his words and as he progresses into the song, he gets more confident and comfortable. It picks up at the chorus, Tommy mumbling along to the words.

He missed music.

The song ends and Quackity claps, having put down his apple core. He sighs. “I haven’t heard a song in years,” Quackity reminisces. “That was great. Thank you so much, man.”

Wilbur laughs, pushing his hair back from his face. “Now I’m not sure you should’ve listened to me for the first song back,” he jokes.

“Shhh, Wilbur, that was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard in my life, don’t you ever doubt yourself,” Quackity says, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye, making a fake sob. Wilbur flushes pink, sheepishly pleased.

“Oh, stop it,” Wilbur says, tugging his cap down. He absently plays with the strings, random notes filling in the background.

Beside him, Tommy groans and kicks Quackity’s foot. “Yes, please fucking stop, you’re feeding his ego,” the teen complains, “You’re fishing for compliments, _Wil,”_ and Wilbur flips him off, pushing his hand into the side of Tommy’s face. The teen sticks out his tongue and bites the air between them threateningly. It clearly doesn’t work as he immediately gets flicked in the forehead. Quackity lets out a laugh.

“You guys are fun,” Quackity says. Tommy fully turns to him and looks over him properly and crosses his arms.

He squints. “You like women?”

“Uh. Sure?”

Tommy nods, satisfied. Wilbur lets out an exasperated laugh. “You can stay,” Tommy says. He goes back to writing and Wilbur gives Quackity a little shrug and a smile before strumming another few chords, encouraging Quackity to sing along as well this time round.

That’s how Quackity meets his third and fourth friend.

* * *

“I have four friends now.”

A pause before continuing to put away the cleaned glass vials into a container. “Am I included in this?”

“No.”

“Thank goodness, almost panicked for a second there.”

“Hey, wait, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

**Author's Note:**

> yooo rads here  
> this has been in the works for a little while and i have enough plans that i am comfortable posting it here now B]  
> there isn't a set schedule but the next update... probably in a few days?  
> feel free to ask or say anything! i'll be adding tags as i go along to avoid spoilers, let me know if there's something missing or incorrectly tagged!  
> have a good one y’all <3 drink some water, wash your face, get some fresh air  
> till next time


End file.
